


Trials, Tribulations and Bitching in Bedrooms

by DoreyG



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, Many mentions of historical/play characters, Secondary school AU, Teenage bitching, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A secondary school AU. Also known as Henry and Montjoy bitching in a bedroom while the rest of the world claws frantically at the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials, Tribulations and Bitching in Bedrooms

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: They're both seventeen in this. So gloriously legal in the UK.

“ _The trials, tribulations and rabid cliques of the average secondary school day_ … What do you think?”

“I think,” Hal huffs, arm thrown sulkily over his eyes, “that I am lying willingly upon your bed after a long day of school - and yet you are _still_ focusing on a completely inanimate object.”

He considers this for a second, fingers resting on the keyboard in a pose that they’ve practically frozen into over the years… “That’s not an opinion, Hal.”

“I know it isn’t-”

“It’s a _fact_.”

“I _know_ it is,” and suddenly Hal is sitting up with wonderfully ruffled hair sticking out in about three separate directions, removing his arm along the way with yet another terribly annoyed huff, “I just find it a rather ridiculous fact, that’s all. You focusing on _that_ thing instead of me.”

“I have to do my work, Hal-“

“You’re _always_ doing your work, Montjoy,” Hal sends him a narrow look, one of those that ties the truth to a chair and sternly tuts until It _breaks_ , “and this isn’t even _work_ work. It’s a small piece for the school newspaper that might not even get published because of how controversial it is.”

He makes a non-committal noise.

“I _know_ you,” but Hal only continues, eyes still narrowed in _that_ rather particular way, “you’ve probably called everybody an utter idiot several times.”

“Not-“

“Not _openly_ , no. You’re far too intelligent to screech it from the rooftops,” Hal slowly tilts his head, coupled with his propped up pose on the bed it makes him look remarkably attractive, “But once they’ve worked through it with the help of dictionaries and Wikipedia you are going to be _dead_.”

“You know me too well,” he chuckles, resisting the urge to tramp over and lay a kiss against that actually cunning forehead, “and why are you protesting over that?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt-“

“You know I can defend myself if it comes down to it,” he interrupts archly, for he still remembers how deeply impressed Hal looked a year ago when he managed to come through The Great Fight without a single scratch sustained, “and _I_ know that if anybody came near me you’d make their nose regret it for years to come.”

Hal opens his mouth-

…Hal closes it, smiles (he has such a lovely smile) because he can do absolutely nothing else, “true.”

“So this isn’t about me avoiding injury,” he can’t help a smug smirk, the lines slightly soothed by Hal’s still-there smile, “admit it: it’s about you being sulky because I haven’t paid you enough attention.”

“…It is not,” Hal protests, a full _moment_ too late.

“Is _is_ ,” he counters, smirk still alive and well and possibly looking for a partner at this rate, “what do you want me to do, Hal? Lather you in strawberries and cream the moment you step through my door? Worship you with my tongue until you can’t speak for _days_? Screech my _devotion_ every time you come innocently into my sight?”

“No,” Hal grumbles, flushes a shade that can only be called _bright_ red, “dad would kill me for at least two of those.”

He thinks briefly back on Hal’s family. And Hal’s extended family. And the people that hang around Hal’s family for _no_ apparent reason “…And Richard would kill himself laughing at the scent of strawberries?”

“Yes,” Hal nods, like it’s _obvious_ (in his defence: it really is), “and then dad would yell at him after killing me and Richard would snipe back and please don’t make me listen to them again, _please_.”

“I’ve heard Thomas say roughly the same thing about us a few times,” he mutters to himself thoughtfully.

“…Pardon?”

“Nothing!” He _smiles_ to himself, For he doesn’t _really_ want to mention Hal’s little brother (and loudly proclaimed rival) in such a setting as this, “I’ll just hold back on declaring my devotion every time you stroll into my sight, then?”

“Yes,” Hal agrees, looking relieved.

“And we’ll discuss the tongue worship and cream _later_ ,” he _purrs_ , just to see Hal’s cheeks do that terribly attractive heating thing yet again, “I can’t focus on you all the time, Hal, it’s just not feasible. I’m around your house every day after school or you’re around mine. I need a little time for myself.”

“I’m not asking for _all_ of your time,” Hal protests, looking a little insulted at his implied clinginess, “I’m just asking for _some_ of it.”

“I _do_ give you some of it.”

“Not-“

“Every single day, your house or mine,” he reminds ever so patiently, almost like a _saint_ , “some nights, too, when we’re sneaky enough. Even at school in sight of Louis – I held your hand yesterday.”

“…Yes, but-“

“For the entirety of lunch.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hal interrupts, blushing (so charmingly) yet again, “but that doesn’t stop me from wanting more, does it?”

He pauses for a contemplative second “…Never had you down as the greedy type.”

“Scroop and co would disagree,” Hal muses, and there’s a briefly haunted look in his eyes (one that he desperately wants to kiss away, maybe while violently maiming Scroop for every single injury dealt) “…And I’m not. But a man like you-“

“I’m seventeen,” he can’t help but smile.

“-Inspires greed,” Hal finishes anyway, with a slow (and fond) shake of his head, “passionate greed. The type that people pine and ponder and write lovelorn poetry over.”

There’s a long pause.

“You mean that?” He asks, smile helplessly growing and _growing_.

“Would I lie?”

“…I suppose not.”

Hal’s answering smile is quite honestly beautiful, the type of thing more commonly seen in paintings of gorgeous people dead and out of reach _long_ ago “…Come to bed?”

He laughs, “that is _terribly_ corny.”

“Please?”

…He stares at the two words that he’s typed since his started talking to his dearest Hal. Studies them, thinks on them, _dwells_ on the many ways they could be expanded and continued in the next few hours.

He taps his fingers for a thoughtful moment.

…He smiles at the screen again, so wide and bright that he could possibly startle starlings into flight, “ _fine_. But I’m finishing this while you’re busy taking your usual post-coital doze,”

Hal _laughs_ -

And he’s already rising to his feet, quickly slipping off his shirt and padding over with an absolutely undeniable smirk spreading steadily across his face.

The trials, tribulations and rabid cliques of secondary school can _wait_ , after all.


End file.
